


The One with the Gazpacho

by MotherInLore



Series: So, I Guess my Muse wants Marvel, now... [9]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Darcy Cooks for Everyone, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, SHIP DARCY LEWIS WITH ALL THE THINGS, Sex Pollen, Sex is Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 01:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15938597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherInLore/pseuds/MotherInLore
Summary: In certain circles, the question, "What's Darcy bringing?" has only one correct answer.  This is why.





	The One with the Gazpacho

Darcy stopped just inside the door and stared, clutching the bag she'd brought to her chest, and eyes locked on the writhing figure atop the bed. “Ohmigawd,” she squeaked, “You? Um, wow. Sorry. That sounded bad...” She stepped in a little further and looked around the tiny room – the atmosphere was definitely fleabag motel, but it was a step up from medbay, and Darcy herself wasn't exactly looking her best, having been summoned on her day off in her baggiest flannel pj pants and her Kareenburg Hexapeds tee-shirt. She worked her way to the side of the bed and set her bag down next to the nightstand, talking all the while. “See, when Agent Koenig said my rockin' bod was needed for someone on my sex pollen consent list, and, I mean, that's a weird term really, because isn't pollen plant sperm or something? Even sneezy pollen is basically sex pollen when you think about it. Sorry, babbling, um, but anyway, I figured it was probably someone like, oh, Ivan Whatsisface in Ops, y'know? And I was kind of fantasizing about it being you instead to get myself in the mood, and so, um, I'm not, y'know, _disappointed_ or anything, it's just, like,” Darcy did her best imitation of the robot in her mother's ancient GPS, “Recalculating.”

His answer was a surprised-sounding grunt, followed by a needy moan. The sheen of sweat on his face did not look healthy. Agent Koenig had told her something about higher neural functions… Poor guy. Darcy pulled her pj pants and undies down together, unceremoniously. “Oh, sweetie,” she said, “It's gonna get better, I promise. She sat on the bed. He reached for her clumsily, and Darcy got a good look at the monitoring device on his wrist – something like a double-wide Fitbit, it looked like. She had one too. Dr. Cho had explained it monitored heart rate and a dozen other things and there was a screamer button on the side that would summon help. No cameras in the room, and that had fucking better not be a lie. Darcy reached for her partner's cock. She was pretty sure “throbbing member” was not supposed to be a literal thing. “Um,” she said, “listen, it's gonna take me a minute to get wound up enough to do you much good, even with lube. So, you want my hands in the meantime, or my mouth?” SI was supposedly supplying the condoms for this venture; there was a decent chance the one he was wearing wouldn't taste too horrible.

“M- mout...” he stuttered, and Darcy chirped, “You got it,” and swung herself astride his neck. If he wasn't up to talking, he maybe wasn't up to 69 either, but the smell might help things along. She got to work. The condom could have tasted worse. Darcy started with pretty straightforward sucking, running her hands down the bottom of the shaft and back gently around his balls, then pressing harder on the tight cords behind them. The voice behind her moaned in… relief? (Holly shit, that voice sounding all stuttering and broken, and Darcy could pretend it was for her. She'd been on his list at least, on _his_ list!) But a BJ wasn't going to hold him for that long. Darcy needed to get over the awkward, like, pronto, and finish warming herself up. _I'm gonna pretend,_ she told herself as she licked and stroked, _that whatever it was he got hit with is contagious. It's in his sweat and seeping into my skin, and it's in his saliva, and there's, like, pheromones and shit, and I've only got a little bit of time before I'm just as helpless as he is…_ It might even be true. How would she know?

Two strong hands gripped her thighs. Warm air huffed between her legs, followed by a nose and a clumsy tongue. Darcy hummed appreciatively, even if what she was appreciating was mostly the thought and the effort; skill might come into it in round two, after the worst of this stuff had burned off. Even this basic attempt from him was enough to get her really thoroughly, fizzily turned on, though. She dragged her teeth gently over the head of his cock, taking care not to damage the condom, and sat up. “OK darlin',” she said, “I'm ready for you now.” 

Getting herself turned around and properly astride him was the usual ungainly scramble, but it didn't matter, because Darcy's heart was pounding. This was real. This wasn't her pillow getting lucky while she let her imagination run riot, this was really _him_ underneath her, his face staring up at her like she was his hope for heaven, his cock thrusting up inside her… three veins stood out on his forehead, making a shape like a widow's peak, making him look fierce and predatory. His chest heaved great whooshes of air too deep to be called panting. Darcy leaned down, pressing on his shoulders so her face hung directly over his, and then winced as her glasses slid off her nose and landed on him. She had completely forgotten she was wearing them.

He laughed a little and plucked them off, reaching one long arm out to set them on the bedside table. The smile… the smile was one she knew. “Shit,” she breathed, “Sorry...” 

But he grinned back at her. “You…” he said, and there was real fondness in the word, and then his breath caught, he dug his hands into her hips and started thrusting harder. “Promise you,” he grunted, “next time… do more for _you… ah!”_

_Holy shit, dude,_ Darcy thought, _you SO do not need to worry about that right now._ What she said out loud was, “Can I kiss you?” Which, one one hand, not usually a question she asked at this point in the proceedings, but hey, she'd grown up on _Pretty Woman_. Sex was awesome but kissing was for when there were Feelings. Ridiculous, hopeless schoolgirl crush feelings in her case, but still.

In answer he surged upright, mouth meeting hers in a crash, as his hands shifted to pull her against his body so tightly she felt the ache in her breasts. He sent a moan into her mouth, followed by his tongue, and Darcy was just gone. The change of angle pressed the base of his cock right on the spot, her hands were wrapped around his shoulders and his head, and she was moaning right back into him, and it built and built until her orgasm snapped right up her spine, and his cries went voiceless as he came too.

They sat there, clinging to each other and panting, for maybe half a minute, and then there was all the awkward. ALL of the awkward. There was the after-sex awkward of detaching, and Darcy needing to fish a hair out of the back of her mouth while her partner dealt with the condom. Said condom went into a very sciency-looking SHIELD container, which indicated weird medical awkward pending. On top of that, of course, was first-date awkward, together with coworkers (loosely speaking) out of context awkward…. “Um,” Darcy cleared her throat. “Is that … it, then?”

He reached out and patted her hand. “M’ not that rude,” he said, “and we’re in quarantine for at least another two hours, until we know nothing more is going to … come up. But if you want space…” he trailed off and then firmed his chin a little. “Thank you,” he said, “for… all this.”

“Any time. Seriously. Um, if we’re taking a breather, are you hungry? Or thirsty?” Darcy sprung off the bed and crouched by the bag, unzipping it. “I just grabbed what I had in the fridge. The one pitcher is mint tea and the other one is gazpacho. Sorry about the color; I used these heirloom tomatoes that taste like heaven and look like barf. And… crap. Cookies are still frozen. Those will have to wait then. Just, be warned, they have, like, a fuckton of ginger in them. They are actually hot. Oh. Cups! I forgot cups!”

An amused chuckle interrupted Darcy’s flailing. “Did I hear you correctly? Agent Koenig calls you for a sex pollen incident, you don’t think to ask who your partner is, but you take the time to grab snacks?”

Darcy shoved a lock of hair out of her eyes and grinned up at him. “Actually, yeah. I mean, if it’s someone on my list it’s not like I’m going to change my mind if I’m needed, plus I learned from wrangling Jane that weird science _always_ makes everyone forget that people need food. You’d think the bio and medical boffins would be better about that, but nope. I mean, Koenig thought it was weird too, but when I explained he spent the rest of the drive over here on his phone yelling about protein bars and V8 juice, so… Darcy instincts for the win.” She offered a fistbump, which he returned. 

He swung his own feet over the side of the bed and bent for the gazpacho pitcher. “Brains and beauty and common sense,” he said. “I want you on the planning team for any op I’m involved in from here on out.”

“Um,” said Darcy. “Does that preclude me asking you out for a real date sometime?”

He didn’t answer, being preoccupied with prying the lid out of the gazpacho pitcher and taking two large gulps. The noise that came out of his throat sounded an awful lot like the one he’d made when Darcy first climbed on top of him. “Did you make this?”

“Yeah.”

“I want you planning all my ops _and_ I’m going to marry you.”

**Author's Note:**

> "A fuckton" is the correct amount of ginger to add at least 85% of the time.


End file.
